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a little poetry...

At the welfare office

Like a herd of cattle waiting to be fed
We are called to the counter and led
To the back room where we feel vulnerable
Like a child unsure of what to expect
We only want a little help to get by
While we work toward a life of more
Talked down to like we are less than
We grit our teeth until the feeling goes
We work with the system and hope for the best
Maybe this caseworker won't be like the rest
Hoping that this is the last time here
Wondering if the time is near
I need to go to the bathroom
But it's not worth the risk
Two hours in this crowded room
Filled with faces of gloom
The man at the counter reminds me of a robot
He seems to forget why he is here
Why don't they paint the walls?
Would it be so bad to make it comforting?
How about some couches or magazines?
Are we criminals? I forget...
No, we are just poor.
So many people, so few caseworkers
Who put us so low on the priority list?
The caseworkers barely stick their heads out
As if they think we are animals
"I want to go home!" I hear a little girl cry
"Just a little while longer", I hear the mom lie
I hear a woman mutter, "Are they going to call me?"
I'm beginning to worry myself
How many hours I will be here
It's after three, no more walk-ins
The room will soon start to empty
It will be peaceful for a while
Until tomorrow when the machine starts again
It's almost Christmas and all we want
Are our food stamps and money to pay the rent.
I really hate this place!
Social services should be a priority
Maybe it wouldn't be socialism
But rather what's right!
Sitting in the back feeling nervous
Its welfare roulette
The cubicles are the chamber
The caseworkers are the bullets
Which one will I get?
Will they be nice or mean?
Are they real or are they machines?
It depends on who you get
I get a machine
I leave feeling violated, empty handed
The message is clear, but not well received
I will be back tomorrow to get what I need